


Breath and Blood

by captainellie



Category: Original Work
Genre: Cock Warming, F/M, Large Cock, Masturbation, Minotaur/Human Woman, Monster sex, Size Difference, sex with an inanimate object
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-19 11:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainellie/pseuds/captainellie
Summary: Let the other historians have their gods, smooth, cold marble.  Nora loves her work and this stone minotaur, rough and warm from her touch.
Relationships: Male Minotaur/Curious Female Historian Who's Surprisingly Into That
Comments: 21
Kudos: 282
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	Breath and Blood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozensea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozensea/gifts).



The statue was so realistic that, in the flickering light, he seemed to breathe. His shoulders were broad, his chest barreled, his stomach thick. He stood, legs wide apart, thighs heavily muscled. His head was thrown back, eyes closed, sharp horns rising above him until they nearly touched the wall. Hair was carved between them, done with such attention to detail that Nora thought the strands would curl soft and smooth around her fingers if she touched them. A long tail was set right at the base of his spine, nearly dragging on the floor.

And, most realistic of all, his penis jutted proudly before him, the head bigger than her fist, the length longer than her forearm. Heavy balls were tucked beneath the base.

Taken all together, the statue was one of glorious ecstasy, the beast caught in the throes of his pleasure, a moment, maybe, or two from completion.

Let the other historians have their gods, smooth, cold marble. They worked upstairs, in airy rooms with wide windows, sunlight painting their faces and their statues gold. She was welcome there, but disinterested. She had wandered, bored and alone, through the floors and all the history they held, but it wasn’t until the basement and its labyrinth of poor lighting and secrets that anything caught her eye.

The others, friends and sisters, did not understand the appeal of the darkness, but they greeted her when she emerged from the bowels of the building to eat with them and otherwise left her to her work.

She was a year into her work before she found him, this great minotaur, hidden away in his own space, an alcove tucked in the corner of a room filled with boxes and statues and assorted ephemera that could be a historical wonder or could be junk.

She set about cleaning him, careful with her tools, and when she was finally done, she could not stop admiring him. Not her work, not really, though she had done a good job, but the glory of the carving, rough stone hewn into a hulking beauty.

Nora moved on to other things, carried books and scrolls up to be preserved, rebuilt shattered bits of stone into her best guess of its original shape, but she was drawn, again and again, to the minotaur. The rest of her work she eagerly shared with her colleagues, whether or not they understood the importance of the dusty pages or the broken carvings, but not him.

Not him.

She took to working late into the night, and then later still. Would eat her dinner sitting on the edge of his plinth, sometimes telling him about what she’d discovered, sometimes sitting in silence. It was peaceful, there, dim lighting that often flickered out for long minutes before it came back.

Peaceful, and exciting too. The longer she looked at him, the more her eyes were drawn to the impressive stone cock. Her breathing sped up. Her heart pounded. Her body ached, and she grew wet. Sometimes, when she would finally drag herself home, she could barely keep her hands out of her pants long enough to shut and lock the door behind her. She’d gotten off standing there more times than she could count, shoulders pressed against the heavy wood, hips canted forward, one hand shoving fingers inside her, the other pressed against her clit.

She went to the local sex toy shop and brought home treats. None felt right, no matter how they vibrated or swiveled, had rabbit ears or pearls for her pleasure. She ordered large ones online, then larger still, and strange, dragon cocks and cat boys, tentacled and spined and scaled, knotted and tapered and flared.

They filled her and fucked her and she came, but it was never quite what she wanted.

Nora was caught up in cataloging a box of stone tools before she sent it up for full restoration. Time slipped away from her. She would take a break for lunch in just another minute, just one more note. For dinner in just a second, just another piece. For the night in just five minutes, or ten, or seventy-five.

Finally, vision blurred and back one giant knot from working bent over for so long, she shook herself away from the tools and forced herself to drink some water. She sipped at first, then gulped when it hit her dry throat. Ate a handful of nuts and some jerky. Paced around in widening circles trying to push energy into her limbs.

She angled her steps toward the minotaur’s alcove and stopped in the entrance, taking him in. The light seemed dimmer than ever, the shadows thicker, and he even closer to alive. She let herself look at him, from the tips of his horns all the way down to the hooves stamped against the floor just so. Again, and again, and each time she lingered on that great stone cock.

Desire burned through her. Her nipples grew hard inside her bra, the soft material chafing because it wasn’t what she wanted. Her cunt throbbed and when she shifted her weight, squeezing her thighs together, she could feel her wetness spread.

It was late, and she was alone, and she was unbearably horny.

Nora sat on the edge of the plinth and looked up at him. From this angle, he rose like a god. She put one hand on her breast. Could feel her nipple even through her bra and shirt. Put her other hand on one of his hooves. The stone was cool but warmed quickly beneath her fingers.

She breathed and for a moment, she could have sworn he breathed with her.

The lights flickered. Nora didn’t look away from him as she slid her hand under her shirt and into her bra. Her mouth dropped open as she tweaked her nip, digging her nails in until the sharp bite had her panting.

She squirmed, and her panties moved against her, hot and slick and nowhere near enough.

It was late, and the room nearly dark, and the basement far from where anyone else worked, and she was desperately horny.

Nora dropped her hand away from her breast and to the button of her shorts. She worried it between her fingers, her other hand still on his hoof, and then, with a flick, she opened it. Tugged the zipper down. Lie back along the plinth, shifting until she stopped teetering on the edge. Pushed one hand into her shorts, worked her fingers into her panties, and touched herself, lightly, teasing the wetness.

Her breath came in short gasps, and her eyes locked on the minotaur above her, his face in shadows, his cock broader and longer than ever now that she lay before him. She rubbed one finger across her clit, then two, until she bucked against her own hand.

It wasn’t enough. Her toys weren’t enough, and her hands, and her orgasms. Nothing was enough, not anymore, and she wanted to cry for what she needed, but she didn’t even know what she would cry for.

It was late, and there were no cameras near this alcove, and she had herself carefully cleaned the stone.

Nora stared up at the minotaur. The statue was solid, firmly attached to the plinth. She’d tested it for weakness while she cleaned it and found none. The stone was rough, textured, but she was slick enough it wouldn’t hurt.

The thought made her freeze, one hand between her legs, the other stroking up his calf. She dragged her nails across the carved fur there, dipping into the whorls. It was nonsense, that thought. Desecration of a historical artifact. Abandonment of all the things she’d swore to do to protect the items she found.

She breathed. Took her hand out of her pants. Stopped touching him. Made herself stand and face the statue, god-like in is height and width, imperious before her.

It was a little like worship, she thought, and she knelt. Kept her head down as she untied her shoes and slipped them off. Her socks came next. Then she stood and peeled off her shorts and soaked underwear. She could leave her shirt, her bra, but she wanted, suddenly, to feel him everywhere, and made short work of the rest of her clothes.

She stood nude and silent before she allowed herself to look at him again. He was cast in shadow and faint light, and she could have caught him in a brief moment between movements, he looked so alive.

One slow, deep breath, and Nora knew there was no turning back. She climbed onto the plinth and drew close to him. His cock nudged against her stomach, warming as she leaned into it. A delighted laugh bubbled up.

As much as she wanted to impale herself on him immediately, she took her time. She pushed and pulled at him, making sure he would not shift on the plinth, tugged on his arms, squeezed his shoulders, thumped his thighs. He was solid and steady.

Finally, she let herself turn to his cock. She knelt again, this time directly before him, and wrapped her hand around it. Her fingers did not reach all the way around. The head was flared, but when she opened her mouth wide, she could take it. It tasted like stone, earthy and dry, and she set to work getting it wet. She licked the length of it, swallowed as much as she could, put her mouth to those stone balls. When the cock was dark and damp, she stood again, then put one foot on his thigh. Braced herself on his shoulders.

His thighs were at just the right angle for her stand, she realized. His shoulders made perfect grips. And his cock rose up, hard stone, to meet her body exactly where she wanted it.

There was no more taking it slow. Nora left one hand on his shoulder and put the other one on the cock to help guide her body. It was big enough there was pressure when she first tried, as soaked as she was, the flare caught at the edges of her opening, a rough despite how she’d slicked it up.

Nora was determined, though, and rolled her hips in a slow circle, until it popped inside. She held herself carefully still for a moment as her body adjusted, then let herself start to move, both hands on his shoulders. She rocked forward and back, tiny movements, easing the cock inside her one tiny bit at a time, until she felt stuffed full and her thighs burned from the carefully controlled thrusts.

Three things happened very quickly after that: She wanted that last bit of stone cock, needed it, needed to be completely filled. She drew back until it was halfway out, then pushed down onto it, slow but inexorable, until it filled her completely. The flared head bumped against her cervix and she shouted from it, flailing at the unexpected flash of pleasure-pain. Her hand caught a corner of stone that was not quite sanded down, and the tiniest slice opened across her finger, spilling just one drop of blood.

Her body adjusted to being stuffed full and the pain-pleasure settled into just pleasure. She squeezed his shoulders, leaving that bit of blood behind, and threw back her head, and came hard, body clenching down on him, mouth open, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

The lights went out.

Nora yelped and jerked and almost fell, but broad hands caught her ass, blunt fingers pressed into her skin, and inside her, the cock pulsed. There was a snort, and hot breath brushed across her cheek. 

“Shit,” Nora said, and tried to stand, but those hands on her ass held her still.

“Fuck,” Nora said, and squeezed his shoulders, and fur curled across her fingers.

“God,” Nora said, and the minotaur gave a tiny thrust that rocked her up against his chest. His heart thundered, and his hands moved to her hips, and he fucked her, hard now, and fast, and frantic.

It was better than her own hands, better than her toys, better than the people she’d brought home to drink and fuck. Better than the one serious relationship she’d had during grad school. Better than even her hottest dreams.

Each thrust pushed him deeper inside until he buried himself inside her all the way to the base. Her body clenched down on him, and she squeezed, making herself pulse. He snorted again, pushed her head against his chest, resituated his hands on her, and fucked.

He pounded up into her like a jackhammer, hard, steady thrusts that took her right to the edge of orgasm, but her body was too spent and too full for her to fall into the pleasure. She panted and held tight, twisted her fingers into his fur, clamped her legs against his hips as best she could, and let him hold her and fuck her.

His thrusts got short and brutal, each a hard stab of dick into her tender body. Each rubbed just right inside, and if she wiggled, she got pressure on her clit, too.

The minotaur bellowed and clutched her hips, and thrust, and came, flooding her with warmth. It pushed her over, and Nora buried her face against his chest and shouted her pleasure. Her voice cracked, her body jerked, and she came, squeezing around him, holding him tight inside even as he held her firm against him.

For a long time, Nora floated in a haze of pleasure and darkness. Her body shook, then trembled, then only twitched a little, until finally her muscles relaxed and she sagged against him. 

He held her through it, his dick gone flaccid inside her, but he did not pull out.

“This is a really good dream,” Nora muttered into the fur of his chest. She knew that wasn't the truth of it, but had to say something.

This time, his snort was clearly a laugh, and he moved one hand until it splayed across her back.

“Blood,” he said, his voice creaky from disuse and quite like the sound of stones grinding together. “And breath. And base desire.”

There were stranger things in the books she’d discovered, and she was too comfortable to protest.

“And so you came to life.”

He nuzzled her hair. Breathed in her scent. “Yes.”

Nora could have left it at that, but he had been stone not too long ago, and he was still inside her, and she really wanted to go again. He was history alive again, and she shouldn’t waste time if there was too little. Wouldn’t. Probably wouldn’t.

His dick twitched inside her.

Maybe wouldn’t.

“Will you stay like this?” she asked, even as she already doubted it. She couldn’t be the first to have put breath on him, and blood, and surely not even sex. It was impossible that in all the centuries since he’d been carved, she would be the only one debauched enough to take the pleasure the stone offered.

“For now.” The hand on her hip moved her a little. Her legs ached and her cunt was hot and sore, but desire flared again when he shifted inside her.

She squeezed her inner muscles, holding him tight, and rubbed her breasts against him. His fur tickled her pleasantly, and her nipples hardened once more.

“Could we lie down this time?” she asked, and rocked her hips in a slow circle. He swelled a little, pushing deeper, and again that snort-laugh of his. It made her smile.

He moved without speaking, carried her off the plinth and sat down, the movement sudden enough the drop made her gasp, but he held her steady and she did not feel any jolt. He lay on the floor. 

It was dark, the lights still out, but here, with her back no longer to the opening, the faintest hint of light from outside the alcove seeped in. Her eyes adjusted until she could make out the edges of him, his broad muzzle, those large horns, the sweep of his body beneath her, the glint of his eyes.

He opened his mouth, revealing large, blunt teeth and a thick tongue.

“Tell me a story,” she said. “Was the labyrinth real?”

His cock throbbed inside her, and she held herself still, kept him inside even as she leant forward, rested her hands on his chest, and looked him straight in the eye.

He smiled, thin lips and wide mouth, propped himself up on one arm, and ran his other hand down the length of her body.

They remained like that, his cock inside, her questions fast, his answers slow, until well into the next day. Nora didn’t want to move, not ever again, wanted to fuck, and question, and listen, and learn.

He was like a god come to life, and Nora was undone.


End file.
